Following Orders
by Selenology
Summary: Written for h/c meme. Prompt: Pre-Series, the high school aged boys get into a full on, knock down, drag out, furniture breaking fight. Oneshot


Written for the hurt/comfort comment fic meme at livejournal community spn_genlove.

Prompt: _Pre-Series, the high school aged boys get into a fight. Not a sparring match fight, like a full on, knock down, drag out, furniture breaking, neighbor waking fight. Dean's pissed because Dad went hunting without him (he's on the disabled roster for whatever reason). Sam's pissed because Dean's pissed. Something minor happens (dinner burns? Tv breaks? whatever), and then it's all over but the crying._

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**Following Orders**

"Give them to me," Dean growls, getting into Sam's space, weight on one leg, face heated with frustration.

"No," Sam says through clenched teeth, holding the keys behind his back. "Dad says you should stay here. It was an order and I think he's right. You're _not_ driving."

Dean got even closer, pushing into him, using his size to intimidate. Sam might have caught up on his brother's height, but his lanky frame was no match to the bulk that Dean had built up. Sam clawed his fingers tighter around the keys.

Dean poked a finger in Sam's chest. "Look, Dad wasn't sure, all right. But I'm fine. I can stand and walk fine. Now give. Me. Those. Keys." He reached around Sam, grabbing his arm.

"No! Fuck off!" Sam shouted in Dean's face, and used his free hand to push him away, hard. Dean stumbled back, his weight hitting his fucked leg, and he went down with a grunt. "Ow, _godfuckinshit_, Sam! Nnnrrghh." He curled around his leg, as if he could hug the pain away. Blood seeped through the rough bandage that John had slapped on.

Seeing it made Sam's vision go red with rage at this bull-headed stupidity. He quelled the urge to kick some sense into Dean while he was sprawled on the floor – though his foot itched to do it – and spat at him instead: "What're you gonna do, huh? Bleed out in the car? Hop through those woods on one goddamn leg? Take Dad's hand while he kills that fucker with the other one? Try to hop away when Dad gets around to killing you? Then me for letting you leave this goddamn dump when you should be in a fucking hospital? You stupid, selfish dumbass!"

Dean had unclenched from around his hurt leg and narrowed his eyes. "Fuck you, Sammy," he said, too quiet. "I don't need a leg to shoot the son of a bitch. Or to kick your ass, you piece of shit." And quick as a shot, especially considering he had only one leg to use, Dean launched himself into Sam.

Caught by surprise, Sam stumbled back and lost his balance. With Dean continuing to throw his full weight into him he crashed back into the TV, shoving it off the table. It hit the floor with an ominous crunch and a shattering of glass. Sam tripped back over it and hit the wall hard. Shocked by the now broken TV and the pain in his back where he'd hit it, Sam sat panting on the floor, hardly reacting when Dean leaned over him and pulled the keys from his lax fingers. But when Dean grinned triumphantly and shook the keys in Sam's face, Sam didn't pause to think and kicked out, taking Dean's legs out from under him with no regard to the hurt one, and followed Dean's hitting the floor with a punch to his nose. Dean's face spelled bloody murder after that.

Later, he wasn't sure who threw the first chair, but by the time the door slammed open, the room was destroyed, Dean sported a bloody nose and two bite-marks on his forearm, Sam's eye was bruising shut and he was damn sure one of his ribs might be cracked. Dean was wrapped in the sheet from the bedding so tight he couldn't move – though he still bucked to try – and Sam was sitting on him, having a hard time catching his breath and cursing violently between agonized gasps. No, he was _not_ crying. He was sure the only reason that Dean couldn't toss him was because of the blood loss. The room was practically painted in it now.

John stepped inside, his boot crunching on the pieces of a shattered lamp.

For some reason, his presence calmed Sam. Must be the peace people feel right before death, he thought distantly to himself.

"_The fuck_…?" John looked stunned. Sam knew that would not last long. He blew one of the pillows' feathers off his shoulder and smiled bitterly.

"Mission accomplished, sir," he said.

~End


End file.
